Winners Never Win
by Iori-chan-sempai
Summary: SPOILERS. Slash. The Composer contemplates his proxy and their final game together.


In all honesty, he wanted Neku to win.

He really, really did.

But he knew it was impossible. Even when you wish for the opposing side's victory, all you can do is grit your teeth and bear it, hoping that they can outdo you. All you can do is guide them and hope that you underestimate them.

All he could do was hope that Neku could pull the trigger.

But alas, he had already counted to ten. He'd counted to fifteen. He had to win, to play fair and true and fire the bullet right between his eyes. Again.

He really had liked Neku. Too much, perhaps. He had loved teasing him. He was too serious, too inexperienced-- but very, very perfect. He could have never made it as Composer. It was a harsh job, impossible for someone as kindhearted as Neku to successfully manage. While Neku would have denied such a characterization, he digressed. The boy tried to tune out everyone so he wouldn't care about them. If he heard them all, he would be forced to care, because that's just how he was. No matter if he realized it or not, he was far too trusting.

Neku had trusted him after all.

Still, he wouldn't have minded if Neku became Composer. Neku's kindness would have brought him back from the dead, and he would've been able to guide him and protect him.

However, it was his own gun that had gone off, rendering Neku the loser and, in accordance with the rules, to be stripped of his entry fee forever. Neku was too sentimental; he could never see the big picture, only his feelings at the moment.

While he had wished for Neku's victory, this separation was for the best. Neku lingered on his mind far too deeply-- and apparently the opposite was also true, if he could consider the countless messages labeled with Neku's name littering his cell phone's inbox as evidence. He wanted to reply just once, but he couldn't, because Neku had lost what was most precious to him in that duel.

He had liked Neku very much, since the day he had first seen him. He never enjoyed lying, but he hadn't been when told Neku that he had been watching him.

It had been ages ago. Neku had been young, still timidly making friends until too much heartbreak caused him to stop trying. A year later, he had found CAT to be his new light and fully embraced his own world, never wanting to even touch someone else's. He had been fascinating. Pure. When it came time to pick a proxy, he knew that Neku was the one.

The only one.

He had watched him slowly open up during the course of the first game, genuinely proud that Neku could do so well in under a week. Then, he had confronted the boy himself, teaching and directing him just enough. Influencing him so gently that Neku wasn't even aware of his own true feelings until the end. He wished he could have watched from the sidelines, to see what Neku thought and said and felt after he disappeared.

When he returned at the end of the third game, he... had been cruel. No, he had been truthful. Blunt. Too frank for his Neku to handle. And after Neku had been so happy to see him! He almost couldn't bring himself to do it. He had wanted to reach out and brush his hand against his cheek or to stroke his hair and tell him it was alright. He wanted whisper his secrets, his truths adoringly into his ears.

But it wasn't to be. He had to collect Neku's entry fee. The person he thought he hated, yet ended up trusting and identifying with more than anyone else. It made him smile to remember it-- that Neku's fee was him.

He had felt terribly flattered at the time. Pleased, even. Regretful? Very.

He spoke with cruel disregard for feelings, both of theirs, because he wanted to twist Neku into desperation. He wanted to make him fire out of spite and loathing, then crumple to the ground in a heap of melancholy. It would have been beautiful. Even if he had never lived again, to see Neku cry for him under those circumstances would have been perfect.

Ah, but he had seen his tears anyway, and they were as perfect as he imagined they would be; perhaps they were even more lovely. Neku didn't want to fire, even if it would save his city and his life.

Joshua, Neku had seemed to decree, was more important than both-- more important than the world which he had previously perceived as the only thing that mattered. Neku was... too sweet.

He supposed he was getting soft.

Observing the desperate attempts of the Producer and the Conductor to prolong Shibuya's existence made him reconsider his decision.

Realizing his proxy would vanish with the city, despite his growth and infinite generosity, made him change it.

("See you there?")

Maybe if Neku had won.

But he didn't.

Soon the voice mails would lessen and the messages would stop, and Neku would forget about him completely.

He had truly loved Neku, like a puppy, a son, and a lover all at once.

He still did.


End file.
